


If You Fall

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, M/M, Romance, Second War with Voldemort, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-22
Updated: 2008-01-22
Packaged: 2018-10-27 09:02:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10805979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: In his final year at Hogwarts, Harry is charged with great responsibilities. Among destroying the Horcruxes, gathering an army to conquer Voldemort and attempting to decipher messages left by Dumbledore, Harry must protect the last person he ever imagined falling in love with.





	If You Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

Harry Potter was an unusual boy in many ways. For one thing, he hardly ever enjoyed his summers. While his cousin Dudley lazed around sampling his Aunt Petunia's sweets and goggling at his new television set, Harry spent most of his summer locked in his small bedroom. The bedroom was not officially his, nor was it comfortable by any means: a cat flap on the door served as a reminder of when he had been locked in his room by the Dursleys, and the shelves were laden with toys that Dudley had broken. The bedroom, in fact, had been Dudley's second room, serving as a storage space for his many possessions. Before he had been moved into his current living quarters, Harry had slept in the cupboard under the stairs. 

The reason why he had been moved was also the reason why Harry was so unusual: he was a wizard.  Although he had been led to believe that his parents had died in a car crash, it was far from the truth: they, like him, could perform magic. Harry was a wizard, and his parents had died at the hands of Lord Voldemort, the most feared wizard of the century. But Harry, miraculously, had survived the attack with nothing more than a scar in the shape of a lightning bolt on his forehead. Lord Voldemort had been stripped of his powers and had gone into hiding. On his eleventh birthday, a giant man named Hagrid had come to tell him of his place at Hogwarts, the school for young witches and wizards. Harry had left behind his pitiful life at Number 4, Privet Drive, and learned how to cast spells, brew potions, and care for magical creatures and plants.

However, his last six years at Hogwarts had been filled with more than just lessons. Harry had already encountered Voldemort several times: once, in his first year, he had met Voldemort face-to-face. The Dark Lord had possessed a Hogwarts teacher, Professor Quirrell, and used him to get the Philosopher's Stone to return to power.

            But Harry had thwarted his plans, and had lived peacefully until his second year, when he met the past of Voldemort. Tom Marvolo Riddle, when in power, went under the nickname of Lord Voldemort, and Harry met this teenage boy in the Chamber of Secrets. Riddle, who was the memory of Voldemort preserved in a diary, had attempted to kill the Muggleborns with a monstrous Basilisk. The Chamber had been opened by Ginny Weasley, his best friend Ron’s sister, who had been controlled by the diary and Voldemort's memory. Harry had survived yet again, plunging a Basilisk fang into the diary. 

            In his third year, while Harry had not met Lord Voldemort, he had discovered that he had a godfather, Sirius Black. Sirius had been his father’s best friend, and falsely accused of murdering thirteen people and betraying the Potters to Lord Voldemort. However, in reality, it had been Peter Pettigrew behind the murders, and Harry had saved Sirius from Azkaban, the wizard prison. Peter was one of James Potter’s friends, who had betrayed the Potters’ whereabouts to Voldemort. He framed the ordeal on Sirius and went into hiding as Ron’s rat.

Then, in his fourth year, Harry had witnessed the death of fellow Hogwarts student Cedric Diggory, and shortly after had seen Voldemort return to power. In the year that follow, Harry was forced to experience terrible visits into the mind of Lord Voldemort, until one of these visions showed his godfather being tortured. Harry had rushed off to the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic to save Sirius, only to discover that it had been a trap to lure him there. Lord Voldemort had needed Harry to seize a prophecy for him, but the prophecy broke, and Sirius Black was murdered.

Just last year, Professor Dumbledore, Harry’s old Headmaster, had revealed to him the existence of Horcruxes, items that contained bits of Lord Voldemort’s soul. Just as he and Dumbledore had begun to search for and destroy these, Professor Dumbledore was killed. The killer was none other than Severus Snape, his father’s childhood enemy and his most loathed teacher at Hogwarts. The Potions Master had fled, and Harry had not heard from him since.

Many times had Harry escaped from Lord Voldemort. And yet, as the prophecy regarding he and Lord Voldemort predicted, in the end he would have to face him. One could not live while the other did, and Harry was given the seemingly insurmountable task of destroying Lord Voldemort and his Horcruxes before the Dark Lord reached him first.

  

            And yet, in spite of all of these daring and spectacular feats, there was nothing particularly glamorous about Harry Potter on the first Saturday of July. It was blazing hot outside, and Harry was spreading manure on his Aunt Petunia's flower beds. His round glasses with slipping off of his nose because of his sweat, and the back of his neck was burning under the sun. Harry felt himself flush as Dudley and his gang of friends laughed from inside, where they were busy licking ice creams and playing on Dudley's new computer. Although in the wizarding world Harry was treated with respect and admiration, he was as good as dirt as far as the Dursleys were concerned. The very mention of Harry's parents brought a look on Aunt Petunia's face that could have wilted one of her prized flowers: Lily had been her sister, the only witch in the family. Uncle Vernon's choice topics involved the unruly state of Harry's jet black hair, his drill company, Harry's inability to amount to much of anything, comparing his wonderful Dudley to Harry, the horrors of motorcycles and imagination, and more of Harry's shortcomings. Dudley spent his time either fearing Harry's magical abilities, expecting to wake up as a slug on any given morning, or else taunting him along with his friends.

  

            Harry wiped the sweat from his brow and got up from the grass. His jeans were stained and his nails were filthy. If it weren't for the fact that the neighbors would ask questions, Aunt Petunia would have never let him in the house. Stepping on the newspaper in front of the door, he made his way into the spotless kitchen. Aunt Petunia, looking as horse-like as ever in her pink apron and hair curlers, hissed, "Get upstairs and change yourself. We'll be leaving shortly." Harry felt as though lead had dropped into his stomach: he hadn't forgotten that they were to be going out tonight, although he had half-heartedly hoped that the Dursleys would. 

  

            Once he was inside his room, he flopped down onto his bed in exhaustion. Tonight was Dudley’s award ceremony at Smeltings, during which various prizes would be given out based on academic, athletic and artistic abilities. Certain that his son would be receiving some prize or other, Uncle Vernon had gone out and bought himself a new tie, while Aunt Petunia had been sifting through the various dresses she owned all week. Finally, she had rushed off to the local clothing store, quite certain that none of the frilly numbers that she wore to Uncle Vernon’s work parties would be appropriate. Dudley himself had been shoved into a pair of dress pants coupled with a white dress shirt and striped tie. His blonde hair was plastered down onto his thick, pink face, causing his many chins to become more apparent than usual.

  

            Harry, on the other hand, had no dress clothes to speak of. Of course, he owned a pair of dress robes that Mrs. Weasley had selected for him in his fourth year at Hogwarts, but he highly doubted that the Dursleys would consider them to be acceptable. In the end, Harry had to settle on a pair of black trousers and one of his shirts that were less baggy on him. Given that most of his clothing had once belonged to his overweight cousin, the shirt was significantly large on his small frame. Though smaller than Dudley's, his body was still quite toned, thanks to his position as Seeker on the Gryffindor Quidditch team at Hogwarts (a popular wizard sport consisting of six hoops, five balls and fourteen players on broomsticks).

  

Harry stuck his fingers into his snowy owl’s cage, watching her amber eyes peer up at him.

                                  

“I’ll let you out soon, Hedwig.” Nipping his finger affectionately, the beautiful owl hooted.

  

“I’ve got to go,” Harry muttered, withdrawing his hand and frowning. “I don’t want to, but if they think I’m insulting their precious Dudley --”

  

“Then they can come to me,” came a derisive voice. Harry whipped out his wand and pointed it towards the window, where a bright young woman was perched.

  

“Wotcher, Harry.” She winked, stepping down smartly. “I wouldn’t leave my window open if I were you. Imagine what Mad Eye would say. Constant vigilance, you know … that sort of thing ….”

  

She looked around his room excitedly.

“Well then, you’d better get ready,” she spoke when he did not, still dazed in a stupefied silence.

  

“Sorry, but,” he grinned in spite of himself, the first smile he’d had in days, “I’m not exactly sure what you’re doing here.”

  

“Rescuing you, of course.” She sighed dramatically. “I suppose your relatives haven’t the slightest idea?”

“No.” Harry was now grinning in earnest.  “Tonight’s Dudley’s award ceremony, they’re downstairs getting ready.”

  

“How quaint.” Tonks winked yet again. “I suppose I’ll have to tell them that you’re leaving.”

  

And with that, Tonks swept from the room, leaving Harry highly amused. He hadn’t the faintest clue what Tonks was doing here, nor where she was taking him, but he had a shrewd idea that her shockingly violet hair would not go down well with Aunt Petunia. Sure enough, as he stuffed a pair of socks into his trunk, he heard a shriek, the tinkling of broken china and a howl resembling a wounded bull.

Although there were faint mutterings from below, Harry could not make out any conversation. He was already packed, holding Hedwig’s cage on his lap, when Tonks stepped into his room.

  

“Pleasant folks, those relatives of yours,” she said sarcastically.

  

“What did they say?” he enquired, leaping up from his bed.

  

“Well, I’ve explained to them that they’re in danger and all,” she explained in a weary voice, “and you would think that that would cause some sort of understanding, but no. I swear Harry, these Muggles, they just don’t --”

  

“Danger?” he asked sharply.

  

“Oh, Harry, really!” She gave him an exasperated look. “You know as well as anybody that once you become of age, the protection your mother gave you won’t last. Voldemort will be coming here to kill you, and I’m taking a guess that once he doesn’t find you here, the Dursleys will be a nice way to let out some of that frustration.”

  

“So where are they going?” Harry asked, thinking wildly of Hogwarts.

  

“Don’t worry, we’ve secured somewhere for them.”

  

Watching Harry quietly, she glanced at his trunk.

  

“I take it you’re all packed?”

  

“Oh, yeah,” he replied quickly, jumping from his reveries.

  

“Your beloved aunt has something to tell you.” Tonks rolled her eyes, holding open the door for him. “I’m sure it’ll be sentimental and heart breaking. Then, I promise you, we’ll leave.”

  

Harry felt his heart fly to his throat. For the first time since Tonks’ appearance, it had dawned on him: he would never be returning here again. Before he had the chance to contemplate this, however, Tonks had shoved him in front of his relatives.

  

“Well, boy.” Uncle Vernon cleared his throat and paused, unsure of what to say. “We’re gone into hiding, with,” he squinted at a page clutched in his hand, “Bill and Shacklebolt.” His moustache bristled, and he was clearly unimpressed with the protection they were receiving. “Got us into another fix, haven’t you, boy?”

  

“Vernon,” Petunia whimpered warningly, staring fixedly at Tonks, who had taken a sudden interest in the toaster.

“Right, well,” Vernon clapped his son’s beefy shoulder, glared half-heartedly at Harry, then set off for his car. Dudley followed suite, giving Harry something of a wave that he quickly changed into a motion of tucking his hair behind his ear. Tonks snorted.

  

Aunt Petunia now stepped forward, lips pursed tightly, and Harry was briefly reminded of Professor McGonagall.

“Your mother,” she said, nose held high in the air, “got into the wrong sort of thing as soon as she went to that school. A school full of freaks, and weirdoes, and loonies. But I ….”

Aunt Petunia faltered, looking around helplessly for her husband, who had already left the kitchen and was standing on the porch.

“I am a Squib,” Petunia said hurriedly in a mortified whisper. “A Squib, do you know what that is?”

  

“What? I mean, yes, I know what that is.” Harry gaped.

  

 “My mother and father were so proud of Lily,” Aunt Petunia sniffed. “Our perfect little witch of a daughter, bringing home toadstools and turning teacups into mice. I couldn’t do any of it, do you know? Not a bit of it. And then she found that Potter boy, and they went off and had you, and then they landed themselves in their graves. Now, boy, I know that we haven’t always been on the best of terms, and I’ll admit that keeping you here was something of a favor to Dumbledore.”

  

“Dumbledore?” Harry asked, faintly aware of the fact that Tonks was also staring at Aunt Petunia in incredulity.

  

“You see, when I knew that I was pregnant,” she had begun wringing her hands, “I was afraid that my son would become a … well, a freak. I didn’t know if this sort of thing skipped a generation, or if there would be enough blood to pass on to him. And so I contacted Dumbledore.”

  

“But how did you know Dumbledore?” Harry frowned, attempting to piece the story together.

  

“In my youth,” Aunt Petunia said curtly, “I had attempted to contact him to ask for a place at Hogwarts. However, he said that it could not be done, although I would always be allowed other odd jobs. The use of a wand, however, wasn’t possible. And so, as I was saying, I contacted Dumbledore in a last attempt to cure Dudley of this,” she paused momentarily, eyes shifting to Tonks, “abnormality. At first he never replied, and Dudley began to show odd signs when he got angry, and I feared the worst. But then, finally, Dumbledore told me that if I were you take you in, that he would find a way to ensure that Dudley didn’t ever become ….”

  

“One of my lot,” Harry finished quickly. His mind was already miles ahead of her, picturing the scene in his head. He could imagine Dumbledore planning it out immediately after his parents had fallen. He could see Aunt Petunia willing to do anything to cure her son. It made sense.

  

“So the letter … ‘Remember my last’ …” Harry muttered.

  

“He meant to remember our last conversation,” she answered with a tone of finality. “I argued that we couldn’t keep you anymore, but he threatened to take away whatever he was doing to keep Dudley normal. So you stayed.”

  

Harry nodded. Slowly, entirely unsure of what he was doing, he offered her his hand. She shook it rapidly and then dropped it as though fearful of catching an incurable disease.

She cast one last look upon her nephew, then drew herself to full height and bustled out of the kitchen.

Silence reigned heavily in the immaculately clean room, until Tonks placed her hand on his arm.

  

“I think we ought to go, Harry,” she said gently.

  

Harry nodded, and in an instant, a hook had yanked him off his feet, and he had the unpleasant sensation of being carried miles away.


End file.
